


The Cruellest Cut

by CharlotteDaBookworm



Series: Ardynson AU [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Ardynson AU, BAMF Cor Leonis, BAMF Nyx Ulric, Cor is Ardyn's Shield, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Fuck Bahamut, Good Dad Ardyn, Good Dad Cor, M/M, Nyx is Ardyns son, Nyx is Cors son, Reunions, Solheim (Final Fantasy XV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2019-07-18 14:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16120826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlotteDaBookworm/pseuds/CharlotteDaBookworm
Summary: “Faeder!” The scream tore itself from his throat, heartbreak and betrayal and grief and loss and rage mixing together, blood splashing across his face as one of his worst nightmares played itself out in real life.The last image he saw of Solheim’s crown city was of his Uncle standing over the body of his faeder, blade stained red with his bloodOr, the au of Time is Cruel where Cor was Ardyn's Shield and Nyx's other father back in Solheim and he ended up cursed as well.





	1. Cor the actual Immortal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SparkleMoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/gifts), [LuxRoyalty (slytherinsdaughter)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherinsdaughter/gifts).



> I saw a post on tumblr that had Cor as Ardyn's shield and, thanks to the sheer number of enablers on that site, this was spawned.

Nyx had heard of Cor the Immortal.

 

Of course, he had. He might never have met the man, might never have even seen him, but the Marshall of the Crownsguard was practically a celebrity in Insomnia. Everyone knew his name, everyone knew his deeds, everyone knew who he was. And he’d heard all of the stories – you couldn’t help but do so when the Guard was so proud of their Marshall.

 

But Nyx hadn’t really _cared_.

 

Why would he? Why would he care about someone who carried the title Immortal, simply because of his deeds? Nyx had scoffed, the first time that one of the Glaives had brought up Marshall Leonis and his title, had had to fight back the urge to laugh.

 

Because _immortal_?

 

Yeah, right. Nyx _knew_ immortality – knew it down to his bones, knew it with every breathe he took and every beat of his heart, knew the truth of it in a way that so few did – and no one who truly understood what immortality meant would dare claim the title. People spoke of Cor Leonis with awe, due to his supposed immortality, and Nyx had to fight back his rage at their sheer _ignorance_.

 

_(Because immortality wasn’t great. It wasn’t awesome, it wasn’t venerable, it wasn’t something to aspire to. It wasn’t_ life _._

 

_Immortality was everyone else dying. Immortality was watching everyone else fade away. It was war and disease and old age and losing everyone that you had ever cared for. It was funeral after funeral after funeral, battle after battle after battle. It was watching the world change until you no longer recognise it, it was_ longing _to hear the language of your birth again – just the once. It was watching everything that you loved fall to pieces. It was a curse, and Nyx wanted to sneer at everyone who thought otherwise._

 

_Because immortality was a battlefield. And it was empty. Because everyone else had fallen)_

 

Still, humans – mortals – were idiots who couldn’t see the forest for the trees, who looked at immortality and thought life instead of wondering _why_. And he couldn’t kill them for that. Nyx pushed back his rage and did his best to ignore the topic every time that it came up – and the Galahdians were nice enough not to discuss it in front of him, especially since they knew that the name brought up far too many memories for their Chosen.

 

Outside of the almost instinctive offence that his title caused him, Nyx didn’t particularly care about Cor Leonis.

 

But he wasn’t expecting the man who swept into the King’s office without a care in the world.

 

\---

 

Nyx had been pulling a lot of guard duty recently – had been ever since he’d doubled back against orders to save Linus Bellum, one of the baby glaives, from a daemon. It was Drautos’ idea of a punishment – take him out of the field temporarily and give him something boring to do all day while surrounded by Lucians – and Nyx would probably complain more about it, but he’s mostly been shadowing the King recently, instead of guarding the wall.

 

And, as much as he hates the Citadel – as much as he hates what it reminds him of, as much as he hates what it stands for _(a monument to the being who had cursed his father, built by his uncles line)_ – Regis is a good man, a good King, and Nyx doesn’t mind guarding him so much.

 

_(No matter how much it pisses him off to have to listen to the Lucian nobles talk about his people as though there were_ lesser _)_

 

So, he puts up with it – no matter how boring standing by the King’s office door watching him do paperwork all day was. Occasionally he’ll have to step outside for meetings, or the King will want to walk somewhere with Nyx shadowing him, but mostly Nyx spent his days acting as a well-paid door opener.

 

_(He’s had_ worse _jobs)_

 

However, when Cor Leonis stalked into the Kings office and tossed a pile of paperwork onto his desk, Nyx stopped breathing.

 

There was no way that this was happening. This was impossible.

 

It _couldn’t_ be him – it had been two thousand years. The man who had carried him on his shoulders and taught him to use a katana and who had looked at his father like he was his salvation was gone. Had fallen trying to buy them enough time to escape from the betrayal. Had been executed just as Nyx’s father had.

 

He was **_dead_**.

 

_(“Go.”_

 

_He stumbled as Cor shoved his father into his arms, the added weight forcing the two of them passed the boundary of the doorway. Swinging one of his father’s arms over his shoulders – and damn it, Uncle, how_ could you _, the Scourge was already killing him anyway, what was the_ point _in this? – he glanced back when he didn’t hear the tread of familiar boots behind him._

 

_Cor was standing with his back to them, sword out and held at the ready to defend them. Nyx swallowed, suddenly feeling like a young child again, being told his mother was dying. “Faeder?”_

 

_“_ Go _, Your Highness. Take His Majesty and be safe. I’ll hold them off.” The man who had been a second father to him his entire life said steadily, only a thread of heartbreak in his voice as he faced near-certain death at the hands of their own people to protect his King and Prince._

 

_He hesitated, knowing that he should go – that his father was depending on him – but unwilling to leave Cor behind. “Nyx!” He barked, and Nyx was turning away, reaching for the furthest warp-beacon that he could manage with his father’s dead weight – conditioned since childhood to respond to the command in that tone, even as he cursed fate and Bahamut and his uncle and the drugs that they had used on his father that kept him out of it._

 

_Just before the magic of the land carried them away, Nyx glanced back over his shoulder._

 

_“ **Faeder**!” The scream tore itself from his throat, heartbreak and betrayal and grief and loss and rage mixing together, blood splashing across his face as one of his worst nightmares played itself out in real life._

 

_The last image he saw of Solheim’s crown city was of his Uncle standing over the body of his faeder, blade stained red with his blood)_

 

But the man in front of him was a familiar profile, unchanged from Nyx’s faded memories. His hair was a little shorter, his eyes darker and more shuttered, the way that he carried himself a little stiffer – but the voice was the same. The voice of the man who had talked him through his nightmares and helped him prank his father.

 

“F- _Faeder?”_ The word slipped off his numb tongue without permission, and from the corner of his eye he could see the way that the King had turned to look at him in confusion, but Nyx’s entire focus was on the man who froze at the almost-foreign word. His heart stutters in the silence of the room as the image of his faeder stares at him in shock and he can feel horrible, painful, hope growing in his chest.

 

_Please_. _Anyone, just, please. Let me be right. Let me have this,_ please _. Just, give me this._

 

_Please._

 

“Nyx?” And Cor was reaching out, exactly like he had always done when Nyx had come to him for comfort, and he couldn’t handle this.

 

He looks his _home_ in his eyes and _shakes_ , falling apart at the seams even as he throws himself into the man’s arms.

 

Nyx **_breaks_**.

 

\---

 

Cor swept into office, a scowl on his face and paperwork in hand.

 

“We need to do something about the western border.” He’s started saying before the door has even swung fully shut, sending an absent nod to the glaive on duty as he stalked up to Regis’ desk and tossed the files he’s collected onto it. They spread out as they hit the desk, showing hints of the data that he had spent the past week compiling. Regis glanced down, keeping an absent eye on him even as the King began to peruse the files. “Daemon attacks are increasing and we’re still haemorrhaging resources. If we don’t do something soon then they’ll break through-”

 

“F- _Faeder?”_ A quiet, stuttering voice interrupted him.

 

The moment that he recognised the word, he _froze._

 

The word, one almost foreign to his ears after all this time, made his heart stop. It had been so long since he had last heard that word spoken, last heard the title given to him by a young boy with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. And he had never heard it spoken like this. He’d heard it squealed during tickle attacks and yelled during battles and murmured late at night and yelped after embarrassing moments – he’d heard it **_screamed_** as an expression of raw grief and pain and anger and betrayal and loss, as the child that he had helped to raise, the boy who was his son in all but blood, had watched him be cut down by a man that they had all trusted absolutely – but he had _never_ heard it like this.

 

Never heard it tentative and disbelieving and pained and so full of heartbreak and with a thread of new-born _desperate **hope**_ that it made him want to _weep_.

 

Cor spun on his heel desperately – needing a proper look at the glaive who had spoken that word with a faint Solheim accent, ignoring the way that Regis tensed and half-rose from his chair at the look on his face – and then he stopped.

 

And he was staring. He _knows_ that he was staring. But standing there, in the black uniform of the Kingsglaive, is a ghost.

 

_(A ghost who looked exactly like his long dead son. Who had Ardyn’s facial structure and nose, who had flecks of gold in blue-grey eyes. Who wore the beads of a Chosen of Ramuh and the tattoos of a Galahdian hunter. A ghost who called him faeder and looked at him as though he couldn’t believe that Cor existed._

 

_A ghost who looked exactly like he had when Cor had last seen him)_

 

He swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat.

 

“ _Nyx?”_ He asked, voice rife with emotions that he had rarely allowed himself to show over the years – rife with surprise and pain and old, unhealed grief and a growing _desperate_ hope that hurt far more than the grief did.

 

_This isn’t possible_. He wanted to say. _You died_. But he had never seen a body, had just trusted Somnus – trusted the man who had betrayed them – at his word. _It’s been two thousand years_. And it had been so long since he had heard that voice – Galahdian accent now far stronger than the Solheim one that he had used to sport – so long since he had seen his son, but he hadn’t changed.

 

Cor couldn’t help but reach out – couldn’t stop himself from reaching for his son, for proof that he wasn’t some sort of illusion – and then he stumbled back a step when Nyx slammed into him.

 

_How did I not know?_ He thought, even as he brought his arms up to wrap them around his son – and this _was_ his son, he was certain of that and even if he wasn’t then the way that the magic of the land was singing faintly in joy would be proof enough.

 

Eyes shut against the burn of tears, he felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest as he clutched at his shaking son – holding him as he sobbed silently into his chest. Never in his life had he ever felt like more of a failure of a father than in this moment – not even when he had been told that his son had died, alone and on the run and in the middle of nowhere.

 

Standing there with his son – his _son_ , the son of his _King_ , who he hadn’t known was alive, who he hadn’t even seen in two thousand years, who was shattering into pieces in his arms – Cor was reminded of just how much he had failed, and it made the breath catch in his chest.

 

Because this was his fault.

 

He had sworn to protect them – sworn the oaths of a Shield to his King, the oaths of a man to those that he loved – and he had _failed_. Had failed in his duty, had failed to protect them, and because of that his King _(his lover)_ had lost his life – had been murdered by his own _brother_ – and his Prince _(their son)_ had spent so long alone and broken. And Cor hadn’t been able to _do anything_ – he’d failed them and broken the oaths that he had sworn as a child.

 

Almost as though he could hear his thoughts, Nyx looked up at him through teary eyes – loosening his hold just enough that Cor was able to slide to his knees in front of Solheim’s lost prince. Regis made a noise of shock in the background, knowing him well enough to be surprised by his actions, but he didn’t look over at his friend.

 

“My Prince,” he said, head bowed as he glanced up at the man who held his life in his hands through lowered lashes. “I have failed in my duties, failed the oaths that I swore, and it cost you your father’s life. Any punishment that you decree worthy-”

 

_“No.”_ Cor started in surprise as Nyx cut him off with a snarl. “No.” He said, yanking him to his feet again. “You do _not_ get to do this, Faeder. You, of all people, do not call me that. You do not get to ask for punishment. Not when I watched you cut down so that your King could escape, not when I heard tell of your execution at His hands – mere days after my father’s. You gave your life for your King – just as the oaths you swore demanded, just as any Shield should – and what came after that was _not_ your fault. And I will not have you blame yourself for it. Is that understood?”

 

The words were accompanied by a fierce glare and royal bearing and, despite the red eyes and drying tear tracks, Nyx looked so much like his father at that moment that it made something in Cor _ache_. Still, at the command from his son – from the man who had never looked and sounded more like the Crown Prince of Solheim that he had once been than now – Cor could do naught but bow his head in submission. “Yes, Your Highness.”

 

He met his sons’ eyes and waited for the other man to nod before he pulled him back in for another hug.

 

Over Nyx’s shoulder, he could see Regis looking at them in surprise and confusion and intrigue, and he knew that he – _they_ – would have to explain all of this to the King at some point but.

 

But that could wait.

 

For the first time in two thousand years – for the first time since they had been betrayed, since he had told his family to go, since their betrayer had come with words of his son’s death on his lips, since his king had been murdered – Cor was **_home_**.

 


	2. Cor/Ardyn reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“My life, my love, my heart, how I have missed you…”_

***

Ardyn stares at the ghost in front of him, unable to bring himself to believe that this is actually happening.

 

Because standing there in the dark uniform of the Lucian Kingsglaive, is Nyx.

 

_Nyx_.

 

His son Nyx.

 

His son who is somehow _alive_.

 

Nyx is alive and he is _here_ and Ardyn isn’t _alone_ anymore.

 

He’s not alone. For the first time in literal _millennia_ , Ardyn isn’t alone because his son is _here,_ and this is almost like a dream. Except he doesn’t dream anymore, hasn’t in a very long while – sees nothing but cold, empty darkness on the rare occasions that he actually sleeps – and, even if it is a dream, Ardyn cannot say that he would _care_.

 

Because he doesn’t dream, but this is a beautiful _, perfect_ one and he will grab ahold of it with both hands before it fades.

 

And there is only one thing could make this any more perfect.

 

Only one man missing.

 

“Dad, _dad_ ,” Nyx – _Nyx_ , his son, his baby boy, Nyx who is _alive_ – sobs into his chest, shaking as he clings to him and he’s real. He’s solid and he’s here and he’s _real_. Tears burn at his eyes and drip down his face but Ardyn doesn’t _care_. _“_ You’re here.”

 

His son is alive.

 

His son is alive. Ardyn hadn’t failed him, all those years ago, because he still lives. His distraction had been _enough,_ Nyx had gotten away from Somnus’ men and he had survived, and Ardyn’s heart surges with joy.

 

“I’m here,” he murmurs to his son, pulling him as close as he dares and holding him tight, rubbing circles in his back as he sobs, ignoring the wet patch forming on his coat. “I’m here love, I’m here and I’m not leaving you again. I’ve got you, dad’s got you…”

 

He clutches his son to him just like he had when he was eight and had just survived his first assassination attempt, trying to comfort him when all Ardyn wants to do is fall apart because his son is _alive_.

 

But Nyx needs him.

 

So, he pushes aside the urge to shatter into a million tiny pieces and clings to his son just as hard as Nyx clings to him, rubbing his back and murmuring in his ear and holding him close as he cries himself out.

 

Eventually, Nyx steps back a little, scrubbing at his eyes with an arm.

 

Ardyn feels immediately bereft, without his son in his arms, wanting nothing more than to pull Nyx back to him and never let go again, but he pushes aside the urge and instead clutches tightly to the hand that Nyx wraps around his own – his son as obviously reluctant to let go as Ardyn himself is.

 

There’s a buzz of a phone on vibrate and Nyx moves away a little more, pulling his phone out of his pocket to frown at it before that smile transforms into a giddy grin.

 

Before he can question it, Ardyn is being dragged away by his son to a side room.

 

“Nyx?” he asks as the door closes behind them.

 

Nyx bounces a little on his toes with giddy, nervous energy – face still stretched into that bright happy grin. “There’s someone who needs to see you dad,” is all he says, grip tightening on his hand for a moment before loosening again.

 

The smile doesn’t falter.

 

Ardyn frowns.

 

_Someone who needs to see him?_ What? Ardyn highly doubts that his son means in his official capacity as Niflheim’s Chancellor (and he supposed that he will need to do something about that. A shame really, the job had been a wonderful change of pace for a while and a perfect way to meddle with everything, but his son came first) and doesn’t know anyone else here outside of that so why-?

 

**_Bang_**!

 

The door flies open, slamming into the wall.

 

His head shoots towards it as a man comes running in – dark clothes and heavy boots and short hair and blue _blue **blue**_ eyes – and he _freezes_ because it can’t be.

 

It _can’t_ be Cor.

 

Can’t be his _husband_.

 

Nyx-? Nyx was one thing. Nyx had only ever been declared dead - they’d taken Somnus at his word and it’d been stupid, but they were about to die anyway and neither of them had been at their best and they hadn’t realised that Somnus had _lied_.

 

Nyx could be explained. If only barely.

 

But _Cor?_

 

He’d seen his husband there, at the end; broken and bloody and _screaming_ as he’d begged for Ardyn’s life and not his own. And Ardyn may have died first, but there was no way that Cor could have survived. No way that Somnus would have allowed him to survive.

 

This can’t be _happening_.

 

It has to be a dream.

 

And then Nyx steps away, letting his hand fall, and Cor is there – standing in front of him and staring at him with awed eyes.

 

_“Ardyn_ ,” his name is little more than a gasp of air, the familiar syllables spoken in an achingly familiar voice, in language that he only half remembers because it has been so long, and the word is full of longing and love and joy.

 

Warm hands grasp his own and Ardyn’s heart _stutters_ as Cor – his _husband_ , love of his life, light of his heart, Cor who is _real_ – slides to his knees before him.

 

_"I'm promised you, my husband, my king, flame of my soul, light of my life. I promised you,"_ Cor whispers fiercely, peering up at him from under dark lashes, eyes bright with so many things as the language of Solheim drips off of his tongue, " _Until the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, will I stand at your side.  Until the rivers run dry and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves, will I Shield you - protecting your body and soul, guarding your heart and mind. Until the heart of the land ceases to beat, will I bind my soul to yours. Until death and beyond, we stand together, united as one."_ The bond between them lights up like a wildfire at the reiterated oath, stealing Ardyn's breath away as it burns with so much love that it is almost blinding, filling a hole in his soul once more.

 

This can’t be happening, but it is and the world around them fades away into nothing as he stares at a man that he loves more than the very stars.

 

As he stares at his _husband_.

 

Ardyn pulls him to his feet, heart in his throat as he watches the graceful movements of a man he’d long thought forever lost to him.

 

“ _My heart_ ,” he breathes as Cor stands, tears in his eyes once more as he pulls his husband to him and clutches him to him. The Old Sol comes to him easily despite the years that have passed, these words etched into his very soul long ago. _“My life, my love, my **heart** , how I have missed you…_”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cross-posting from over on tumblr


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cor POV of the CorArdyn reunion

Two thousand years ago, he had sworn everything he was to a man – to a king. Two thousand years ago, dying in a cold stone cell, he had thanked him for loving him. Two thousand years ago, chained to the ground, he had screamed and begged and cried as that man was put to death.

 

Two thousand years ago, Cor had failed his husband and Ardyn had died for it.

 

He had watched him die, had been forced to watch every last second of it, and had never thought to see him again. Not even after reuniting with his son, not even after discovering Nyx’s curse _(and oh, how Cor had raged…)_ , because he knew that his king was dead.

 

His husband was dead.

 

And yet…

 

 _“Ardyn_.” The name rips itself from his hoarse throat and he cannot tear his gaze away from the miracle in front of him, cannot tear his gaze away from his husband-King and oh, he had never believed that this moment would come.

 

Had never believed that he would see this beautiful, wonderful, marvel of a man before him again.

 

Wide gold eyes look at him in shock and _hope,_ set in a face that is just as he remembers, and Cor’s heart is full of longing and love and joy.

 

Because this is his husband, he knows that – has known that since Nyx had texted him, honestly, because his son would never do so unless certain, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it until he saw him with his own eyes – and the glyphs on his back _burn_ and the calligraphy over his heart tingles.

 

And, because this is his husband and his king and Cor swore himself to this man _(a good man)_ two millennia ago, it’s easy to fall to his knees before him, reaching out to take his Kings hands.

 

The warmth of them burns in his blood and settles his heart, and he cannot help his smile as he looks up to meet Ardyn’s eyes.

 

 _“I promised you, my husband, my king, flame of my soul, light of my life.”_ He whispers in the language of their birth, a language that he has hardly spoken over the centuries but has never quite forgotten, and the words come easily as magic buzzes in his veins. Because he knows these words, knows them to his soul, and the first language might be ancient even to them, but the meaning of the words belongs to the King before him. To the King he swore them too. _“I promised you: until the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, will I stand at your side; until the rivers run dry and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves, will I Shield you, protecting your body and soul, guarding your heart and mind; until the heart of the land ceases to beat, will I bind my soul to yours; until death and beyond, we stand together, united as one._ ” And, as he breathes the last of the oath that he had first sworn as a teenager, he brushes a kiss against the hands that he holds.

 

Like wildfire, the bond between them burns in his soul, settling into place like a warm blanket, filling the emptiness inside of his heart and soul that has existed since his husband had died on that cross, all those years ago. The warmth of the bond, the warmth of _coming home_ , is enough to steal his breath away.

 

Cor never wants this moment to end. Never wants to let his husband go.

 

He stands easily as his King moves to pull him up, happy to move closer to they were pulled almost flush, and he melts into Ardyn’s touch as his husband cups his face and presses their foreheads together. Tears flow freely down his face and his smile does not falter.

 

 _“My heart,”_ he breathes out and the sound of Sol – the sound of that name - on his lips is like liquid gold and Cor is spellbound. _“My life, my love, my **heart** , how I have missed you…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm marking this fic as complete because it's more a collection of tumblr snippets for the au than anything. This doesn't mean I won't post any more for it, it's just easier to mark it as complete


End file.
